


Laughing Gas and Coconut Vodka

by TheAsexualScorpio



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adork Ahai, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I've been waiting to use that tag since I came up with it, Inebriated!Sansa, Jon Snow is a dork, Nurse!Jon, The Dork That Was Promised, Underage Drinking, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualScorpio/pseuds/TheAsexualScorpio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark doesn't get happy, sad, sleepy, or horny when she's inebriated. She gets something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laughing Gas and Coconut Vodka

**Author's Note:**

> I promised a sequel to "A Strange Conversation," but it refuses to be written. Smut is exceedingly difficult. Have some fluff instead. Inspired by this tumblr post: http://perfectlyrose.tumblr.com/post/134420605118/officialcadbane-ohsebs-ohsebs-ohsebs

Ned Stark had never really thought about what his daughters would be like if they were inebriated. Honestly, he never expected to see one of them in such a state. That changed, however, when Sansa was thirteen and had to have dental surgery. Loose-limbed and obviously drugged up to her eyeballs, she shuffled into the waiting room when Ned and Arya arrived to pick her up. She gave Ned a smile—admittedly less winsome than usual with her mouth full of cotton—and then wrapped her arms around Arya's neck.

“Wha—Sansa, get off!” Arya demanded, trying to pry Sansa off.

Sansa only nuzzled her little sister's hair and sighed happily in response.

Ned bit back a smile. It seemed that drugged Sansa was very affectionate. He took out his phone and then snapped a picture to send to Cat.

“Dad!” Arya whined. She struggled a bit more, but Sansa didn't budge. The latter murmured something Ned couldn't make out and then kissed Arya's head. Arya let out a disgruntled growl in response.

This was probably the cutest thing he'd seen the girls do since they were babies.

Smiling to himself, he walked outside. Arya followed with Sansa continuing to cling to her every step of the way. Ned stopped just outside the door when he saw who was in the parking lot. He felt Arya bump into him from behind.

Sandor Clegane was standing just outside his massive, black truck. The driver's side door was open, and he seemed to be rummaging around in the cab for something. Ned wished he could say he had no problem with the man. He had served all the time for his crimes and gotten therapy, besides. Justice had been served, and it seemed the man had kept his nose clean since he got out of prison. He'd become _a dental hygienist_ of all things. It wasn't fair to be so leery of him, but Ned was. The sound of a car door slamming pulled Ned from his musing, and he realized it had been Clegane. Shrugging, Ned stepped away from the door, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man spare them a bored glance.

“What are _you_ looking at?!”

Ned froze.

The slurred, feminine voice should have given the speaker away immediately, but Ned couldn't believe it. He _had_ to look. Slowly, he turned to look behind him and saw that Sansa had straightened and tightened her grip on Arya. Her blue eyes were narrowed into slits, and they were focused on Sandor Clegane. She looked like an angry chipmunk.

Clegane turned to look at them, obviously bewildered.

“Yeah, I'm talking to you!” Sansa bellowed through her mouthful of cotton.

Sansa, his most well-behaved child, was yelling at a convict. Ned was having trouble processing.

Sansa jerked toward Clegane, dragging Arya with her. “You wanna fight?!”

Arya made a choked sound, an expression of shocked delight on her face. She looked like someone had told her Sevenmas had come early.

Clegane only looked more bewildered, shooting dubious looks between Ned and Sansa.

 _That_ managed to snap Ned out of his shocked reverie. “Sansa!” he barked.

Sansa only _growled_ , her eyes still focused on Clegane.

Arya made another choked noise, and Ned knew for sure this time that it was a stifled laugh.

“We're going home now,” Ned said firmly, taking Sansa's arms.

“I will dig up your childhood pet and eat that son of a bitch!” Sansa threatened.

Arya lost it, letting out a delighted shriek that immediately dissolved into helpless giggles, and Ned froze, shocked at his eldest daughter's language. Across the parking lot, he could see that Clegane was breathing heavily through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists and then turned and hit the side of his truck. Ned immediately grabbed his daughters' hands and rushed to the car. After he'd shoved both girls in the backseat, Ned clambered into his own seat and locked the doors. Starting the car, he sped out of the parking lot, but not before he saw Sandor Clegane _howling_ with laughter, smacking the side of his truck in his mirth.

**~O~**

When Catelyn got the picture of Sansa and Arya cuddling, she actually squealed. The noise attracted her son's attention, and he laughed outright at the image on the screen. Ned and the girls arrived home twenty minutes later, and sure enough, Sansa was still clinging to Arya and nuzzling her hair.

“Everything go well?” Catelyn asked Ned.

Arya broke into snickers, and Ned shot her a vaguely panicked look before turning back to Cat. Seemingly at a loss, he looked back at his daughters and then back to her. He finally settled on a noncommittal grunt and went to the kitchen. Catelyn watched her husband leave, bemused by his behavior. Her attention was brought back to her daughters when she heard Robb's teasing the girls. She turned to look behind her.

“How cute!” Robb crooned, “Sisterly love.”

Everyone in the room started when Sansa let go of Arya with a horrific shriek.

“Oh, come on, San. It's not that b—”

Sansa interrupted Robb with a solid punch to the jaw.

Robb's head snapped back. “What the fuck, Sansa!?”

“Sansa Stark!” Catelyn snapped, appalled.

Ignoring her, Sansa grabbed Robb by the collar of his shirt and yanked his face close to hers. “You fucked a nurse and then EVERYONE died!! Mom! Turned into! A _zombie_!”

“Sansa, go to your room this instant!” Catelyn ordered.

“I don't take orders from zombies!”

Vaguely insulted, Catelyn gaped at her for a moment before she heard Arya let out a delighted cackle. Catelyn rounded on her. “You too, young lady!”

“But I didn't—”

“Now! And take Sansa with you!”

Grumbling, Arya grabbed Sansa's arm. “Come on, Sansa.”

Sansa keened happily and latched herself to Arya's side. Catelyn watched them until they reached the top of the stairs and turned toward their bedrooms.

“What in hells was that about?”

“No more swearing,” Catelyn said automatically. She turned to see Robb rubbing his jaw and immediately softened. She elected to ignore the expletives he'd already used, because it _had_ been a nasty punch. His jaw was already beginning to swell. “Now, let's get you some ice.”

She led her son into the kitchen where she found Ned sitting at the island. He was nursing a rather large glass of whiskey and looked more tragic than Catelyn had ever seen him. He took one look at them and immediately took two more glasses from the drying rack. He poured a couple of fingers of whiskey into each of them.

Catelyn smacked Robb's hand when he reached for one and then sat him on a stool next to Ned. She took some ice out of the freezer and bundled it into a makeshift ice-pack. Placing it in Robb's hand, she guided it so the ice was placed lightly over his jaw. Once all that was done, she kissed him on the temple and then turned to Ned, hands fisted at her hips. She gave him a long, weighted look, silently demanding why he felt the need to get everyone in the house drunk on whiskey.

“She yelled at Sandor Clegane to fight her.”

Catelyn's eyes widened. The Lannister thug?!

“She threatened to dig up his childhood pet and eat it.”

Catelyn's mouth dropped open, and Robb chuckled. He immediately let out a pained whine, and Catelyn absently patted him on the shoulder.

“We drove by Cersei Lannister's house. Sansa yelled at her out the window. She called her a 'sinning sinner full of sin.'”

Catelyn took the proffered glass of whiskey and ignored Robb when he did the same.

**~O~**

It was Arya's freshman year and her first high school party. She technically hadn't been invited—Joffrey Baratheon hated her guts—but she decided that, as the host's girlfriend's sister, she could come if she damn well wanted to. Plus, the party was so big that Arya was sure he wouldn't see her or the friends she'd brought along. Things were going smoothly. Arya and her friends were having a great time, but then she got a glimpse of Joffrey and his stupid friends in the kitchen. Sansa was with them.

“I said. Have. A fucking. Drink. Sansa,” Joffrey said, his face contorted into an ugly sneer.

Arya made a disgusted noise and turned her attention back to her friends, keeping an ear on Joffrey. She really had no idea what Sansa saw in him. He wasn't _just_ a douche canoe; he was an entire douche cruise line.

“I-I don't drink,” she heard Sansa say meekly.

“You do, because I told you to. Take it.”

There was something about his voice that made Arya pull away from her friends and stand outside the kitchen. She watched as Sansa took the beer with obvious reluctance and drank. She grimaced in disgust, and Joffrey rolled his eyes.

“You're so pathetic. Seventeen years old, and can't even handle a beer.”

“No! No, I can!” Sansa said desperately. She took another, larger drink, but she only succeeded in making herself gag and spray beer all over Joffrey's douchey polo.

“You stupid bitch!” Joffrey screeched. “This is a Tyrell polo!”

Arya's stomach dropped when she saw Sansa start to cry.

“I'm sorry, Joff. I didn't mean to, please—ah!”

Joffrey slapped Sansa hard enough to make her fall against the stove, and his stupid friends, Meryn Trant and Boros Blount, only laughed.

For a second, Arya felt like she'd been punched in the gut, then she immediately saw red. She wanted nothing more than to storm in there and beat Joffrey's worthless face in. She almost did too, but then she had a better idea. Remembering a glorious day four years ago, she hurried back to her friends and took an almost full bottle of coconut vodka from Lommy. She crept back to the kitchen just as Joffrey gave Sansa one last disgusted sneer and left, his gross friends at his heels. She turned away so they wouldn't see her face as they passed and then darted in the kitchen once they were gone.

Her stomach clenched at the sight of her once proud, pretty sister. She was on her knees in front of the stove, crying so hard that it looked physically painful. She even didn't look up when Arya started fussing around the kitchen. Hoping she was right, she took a large glass from the cabinet and filled it about a third of the way with vodka. Rifling through the refrigerator, she was pleased to see that these Baratheon assholes were pretentious enough to have fucking _kiwi_ juice. She filled the glass up the rest of the way with kiwi juice and then added a dash of powdered strawberry Kool-Aid that she'd found in one of the cabinets. After a few seconds of vicious stirring, Arya added a couple of ice cubes and declared it done. It wasn't the fanciest cocktail, but hopefully it would do. She turned and saw that her sister _still_ hadn't looked up. Suddenly, an icy tendril of fear clutched at Arya's heart, and she was certain Joffrey had badly hurt her sister.

“Sansa?” she asked tentatively.

She was relieved when Sansa's head snapped up, but she felt another flare of anger at the sight of the bright pink hand print on her sister's face.

“Arya?” she asked. Suddenly, she clapped a hand over her bruised cheek. “You're not supposed to be here!”

Carefully balancing the glass, Arya ignored her sister's warnings and sat next to her. She offered the glass. “Drink.”

“What?”

“Beer isn't the only way to drink. Try this.”

“You're... _teaching_ me how to drink?”

“Yep.” Let's go with that.

“Why?”

“It'll make you feel better.”

Tentatively, Sansa took the glass and drank. She grimaced a little, but it wasn't nearly as obvious as it had been with the beer. She took another drink and had no reaction. She gave Arya a watery smile. “This isn't so bad.”

Arya snorted. “'Course it isn't. Beer's just disgusting.”

Sansa giggled and took another drink. The more she drank, the more she relaxed, and soon the glass was empty.

“I'll make you another one.”

“Thank you, Arya,” Sansa crooned.

She filled the glass halfway with vodka this time and then added the kiwi juice and Kool-Aid. She handed it back to Sansa, who immediately took a drink and made another face.

“You need to get used to it again,” Arya hurried to explain.

“Oh, okay,” Sansa finished this drink even quicker, and Arya made her another. With each drink, Arya upped the amount of vodka in it until, by the end of Sansa's fifth glass, the bottle was nearly empty.

And Sansa was feeling snuggly. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Arya's waist, and her face was buried in her hair. “I luh you, so much, Ary.”

Arya smiled and patted her sister's shoulder. So far, so good. “Love you too, San. Why don't you go tell Joff you love him?”

“Cuz I don',” Sansa said immediately, and Arya snorted.

“So, why are you dating him?”

“Skerd to break up wi' him.”

Once again, Arya's stomach clenched, and she desperately wanted to beat the everloving shit out of Sansa's shitty boyfriend.

“Are you scared now?” she asked instead.

“Know what?” Sansa slurred. “I'm _not_!” She staggered to her feet. “Ima...Ima dump his ass.”

Arya chuckled. “Atta girl.”

“Bye, Ary!” Sansa called cheerfully. She walked out of the kitchen with surprisingly good balance.

Not even a minute later, Arya started thinking. She looked down at the vodka bottle in her hands. Would a bottle of vodka have the same effect as whatever the hell Sansa got at the dentist four years ago? And what if she _did_ punch Joffrey? Joffrey probably wouldn't back off like Robb did. What if Joffrey got mad and really hurt her? Unnerved, Arya stood up, ready to find Sansa and get a ride home from _someone_. Suddenly, she heard several surprised shrieks. She ran to the kitchen door and saw Sansa slap Joffrey hard. Arya ran to her sister, elbowing the rapidly gathering crowd out of the way.

“How do you like it, huh?! Huh?! Ya _jerk_!” Sansa yelled. She slapped Joffrey after each 'huh' and punctuated the 'jerk' with a knee to his groin. She kneed him so hard, it sounded like the _thock!_ of a baseball bat hitting a ball, and several guys watching cringed. Joffrey himself let out a high-pitched wheeze and dropped to his knees, cupping his junk. He looked helplessly at Trant and Blount, tears streaming down his face. He was clearly begging for help.

Sansa rounded on them. “Fucking fight me!”

They ran.

Arya stuck her foot out as Trant passed and laughed as he tumbled headlong into the kitchen.

**~O~**

It was Sansa and Margaery's very last week of college. They'd finished exams, and all they had left to do was wait around until graduation. That, and party. Margaery had insisted Sansa drink this time, telling her that she had less than a week left to get in on a college tradition. Margaery was so glad Sansa was joining in the fun that she didn't even question Sansa's bizarre cocktail, which consisted of coconut vodka mixed with strawberry-kiwi Kool-Aid.

Sansa, it turned out, was a sad, cuddly drunk. After several “cocktails” she plopped herself in Margaery's lap with a sigh and then wrapped her arms around Margaery's neck.

“What's wrong, Sansa?” Margaery asked, rubbing her back.

“I miss Arya,” she said miserably.

Margaery raised her eyebrows. That was unexpected. The few times she'd seen Sansa and Arya together, they'd fought like cats and dogs.

“She gives the best snuggles.” Sansa looked up at her and then nuzzled her neck. “You'll do though.”

“Oh, I'll do, huh?” Margaery asked, humoring her.

“Yep.”

“I think it's time to go home now.”

“Carry me?”

“Sansa, you are actually an Amazon. I can't carry you.”

Sansa whined and tried to cuddle even closer.

“Come on,” Margaery wheedled, gently pushing Sansa off her lap. She stood up and then took Sansa's hand. “Time for bed.”

“'Kay.”

As they walked, Sansa swung their joined hands like a child. About a block from their apartment, Sansa stopped. Margaery stopped too, confused by her friend's suddenly tense posture. She stepped around Sansa and noticed that her eyes were narrowed and focused on something. Following her friend's gaze, she saw Sansa's former advisor Professor Martell on a balcony across the street. He was in his underwear, and he seemed to be doing yoga. Margaery wasn't sure _why_ he was doing half-naked yoga at—she checked her phone—3:30 in the morning, but she decided it was none of her business.

“Hey, Martell!” Sansa yelled.

Margaery started and then stared, wide-eyed, at her friend. It wasn't the greeting that surprised her. It was how _furious_ Sansa looked. She was actually shaking. It reminded Margaery of a chihuahua.

She turned back to Martell to see what he would do. He pulled himself out of triangle pose and walked to the railing around his balcony. Frowning in confusion, he scanned the view in front of him until his eyes landed on them. He smiled.

“Good morning, Sweet Sansa! Margaery.” His tone was curt with her, and the feeling was mutual. She acknowledged his greeting with a nod and then looked back at Sansa.

She was glaring at Martell hard enough to make him burst into flames. Margaery looked back at Martell, wondering what he did and if he could see how furious Sansa was.

“Fight me!” Sansa demanded.

Margaery's gaze snapped back to Sansa. In her peripheral vision, she could see Martell lean back, his eyebrows raised in shock.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“I'll eat your asshole alive!” Sansa bellowed.

“Okay, that's enough! Goodnight, Professor Martell!” Margaery called with forced cheer. She grabbed Sansa's arm and hurried them both into their building.

Out of the corner of her eye, Margaery could swear Martell looked intrigued.

**~O~**

Jon Snow checked his patient's chart. He needed to check... Sansa Stark's vitals for her doctor. He stepped into her room and was surprised at how many pillows were on her bed. Was she even still in it? He lifted one of the pillows and found himself face-to-face with a redheaded woman about his age, maybe a little younger. Even pale and a bit bloated from her surgery, she was very pretty. Or, she would be if she weren't glaring daggers at him.

“Fight me,” she hissed.

Jon's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. That was unexpected. She didn't look like the type to get into fights. She had a fancy manicure.

“Fight. Me,” she repeated.

Jon bit back a smile. “Maybe later. I need to check your vitals right now.”

She stared at him for a moment, blue eyes narrowing even further in suspicion. After a moment, she relaxed a bit. “Okay. We can fight later.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“There is no ma'am, only Zuul.”

A bark of laughter escaped before he could stop it, but Jon was pretty sure he managed to disguise it as a coughing fit. He placed the pillow behind her head and then went about checking her vitals. Once that was done, he left, smiling to himself. He returned a couple hours later with her medicine. She was coughing so badly that Jon's own chest ached in sympathy.

“This'll make you feel better,” he said, helping her take her meds.

“Fi-ight m-me!” she stuttered between coughs.

He smiled at her. “I can't fight you, Miss Stark. I know you'd win.”

She huffed at that, but Jon was pretty sure she looked pleased.

That was how it went for the rest of his shift. He'd return every couple of hours, either to feed or medicate her, and she would demand he fight her. Each time, she looked a bit healthier and even prettier. He had to leave at three, and he wondered how she would be tomorrow.

Jon came in at seven on the dot the next morning and went to check on Sansa Stark. It looked like she'd just woken up. Clearly, she'd had a bath, and she looked even healthier than before. She looked really good. She caught him standing in the doorway, and her face flushed prettily.

He gave her a half-smile. “No more good drugs?”

She shook her head quickly and covered her face with her hands. Adorable.

He stepped into her room and checked her chart. It seemed she was going home today. It was terrible of him, but he felt a little disappointed. He put the chart down and went to check her vitals.

“I'm sorry,” she said suddenly.

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“For yelling at you to...fight me. I wasn't actually angry at you or anything.”

“Oh. I know that.” He glanced at her and wondered if he should go for it. She _had_ made that joke about Zuul. Well, it was kind of a joke. He went for it. “Jon is used to death threats, ma'am. Jon gets them five times a day at work.”

There. He'd tried to bond over being a geek.

She looked mystified for a moment, but then she relaxed and laughed, swatting at his arm. “You're such a dork.”

He laughed too and finished checking her vitals. “Is there anything you'd like me to get you before you leave today?” he asked after he'd marked them down.

She thought about it for a moment. “Could I have coffee? I really miss coffee.”

Jon checked her chart and didn't see any warnings against caffeine. “I can do that. Fair warning though, it's bad coffee.”

“I will even take bad coffee.”

“Alright.” He started to leave.

“Jon! That is your name, right?” she asked when he turned around.

“It is. Did you need something else?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. She looked shy. “Nevermind. Just the coffee, thank you.”

“Okay. Be back soon.” Feeling disappointed and not entirely sure why, Jon made his way to the nearest coffee machine. While he prepared the coffee the way she'd asked, he thought about Sansa Stark. It would suck to never see her again. Looking thoughtfully at a napkin, he took out a Sharpie. He brought her the coffee and the napkin a few minutes later. As much as he would have liked to stay, he regretfully told her that he had other patients and needed to get back to work. He hurried out of the room, not wanting to see her face if she didn't like what was on the napkin.

**~O~**

Sansa was not pouting. She was just...a bit lonely, and Jon was nice. She could feel bad about seeing him go. She could feel bad about leaving in a couple of hours. She could _definitely_ feel bad about chickening out when she meant to ask him for his number or something. With a sigh, she tried to take a sip of her coffee. She let out an irritated growl when she spilled it. Taking the napkin Jon brought, she wiped her chin and then dabbed at the mess on her chest. She was about to throw the napkin away when she saw a black mark on it. Confused, she unfolded the napkin and found writing on it. She beamed when she read it.

Apparently, she'd manage to seduce Jon with her drool and terrible lungs, because his name and number were written on the napkin, right under “Fight me?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> "I'll eat your asshole alive!" is something Mike Tyson actually said when he was trying to trash-talk an opponent. He also said, "I'll fuck you 'til you love me!" but unfortunately, I couldn't find anywhere to fit that one.   
> "I'll dig up your childhood pet and eat that son of a bitch!" comes from an Oatmeal comic about road rage.


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